A sickness with no cure
by Saarkind
Summary: Has there ever been a more demanding Grisha instructor than Zoya Nazyalensky? Hardly. However, when Nikolai Lantsov attends a Grisha practice session at the Little Palace, he learns way more than he ever expected... Timeline: Some time around King of Scars.


_**Hi, there.**_

_**I'm a long time fanfiction author on a German fanfiction website. Unfortunately, the fandom to Leigh Bardugo's novels is non-existent over there. Therefore, I have decided to give it a shot here. This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction in English language. I hope I've kept the mistakes to a minimum.**_

_**I'd really appreciate any form of feedback.**_

_**Enjoy reading.**_

_**Cheers**_

_**Saarkind**_

**A sickness with no cure**

State affairs and the endless task of rebuilding the First Army had kept Nikolai Lantsov busy as hell, but as soon as he could afford a spare hour, he went to visit the Little Palace. From countless other visits, he knew his Grisha were taking training sessions at this time of day, likely supervised by no other than relentless General Nazyalensky. He had heard her name getting whispered among Grisha novices and servants of the Grand Palace alike. The powerful Squaller who could command wind like no other. One of the handful of survivors when the Darkling's _nichevo'ya_ had brought mayhem upon the Second Army. The ruthless and sharp-tongued member of the Grisha Triumvirate who demanded nothing less but perfection from any Grisha, no matter how skilled or how old.

Whenever Nikolai had caught fragments of these whispers, he had found himself smiling. Zoya Nazyalensky was more than that, the perfect supplement to a king possessed by a demon of darkness and desperately in need of a true confidant.

When he arrived at the training hall, he immediately searched for her. It was an easy task as Zoya in her artfully embroidered Etheralki _kefta_ and with all of her breath-taking beauty, the result of her partial Zuli heritage, stood out among the gathered Grisha like a sapphire gem among pebble stones. He waited until she registered his presence with the barest nod imaginable. After that, he just watched with the experienced eye of a long-time warrior and leader as student after student went through the rigorous tasks set upon them by their superiors.

Zoya Nazyalensky was not the only senior Grisha present that day. Genya Safin, the famous Tailor, who had paid the price of defiance of the Darkling with one of her eyes, overlooked the activities of both Corporalki and Materialki among the students. Genya was of remarkable appearance too, but in contrast to Zoya, who radiated distance and determination, Genya was all warmth.

"Your recent wave of students seems to progress well," Nikolai commented when Genya approached him.

"We've had better and we've had worse," Genya replied with a smile on her scarred face. "But, yeah, I guess we're making progress."

Nikolai nodded and looked over to Zoya who was taking a hapless student down a peg or two. "It seems as if Zoya was less pleased with that progress."

"Could you imagine any Grisha student ever capable of satisfying Zoya's demands?"

"Could _anybody_ ever satisfy Zoya's demands?" he replied with a chuckle around the corner of his mouth.

He sensed Genya looking intensively at him. The smirk on her face made him restless.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing, your Highness. It's really nothing. I was just wondering what it'd take to satisfy our dear Zoya."

"I guess it would be a chest full of jewels, beautiful clothes and, uh, of course a mountain full of heroic deeds."

"You seem to know her pretty well," Genya remarked after a moment of silence.

"That's not too difficult a task. Everybody with a healthy set of eyes can see that," he responded at once. "Though, in all honesty, that might not be sufficient at all," he added silently, more to himself than to Genya. "Zoya needs so much more than that..."

"Like what?" Genya asked curiously.

Nikolai frowned, followed by a mitigating gesture, as his eyes rested on the subject of her conversation. "Like somebody who can see that behind her wall of ice she's such a wonderful person. Strong, witty and caring." He had to smile when he saw her rolling her eyes at a student's ill-fated attempt at raising a wall of air. "But in the end, we all expect more from life than a chest full of gold, don't we?"

"You won't hear me saying that you're wrong."

Genya's gaze wandered over the students. A very young Materialki student, barely ten years of age by Nikolai's estimation, had just failed to turn a small globe of stone to dust. Genya gave some instructions, measured and calm, and after three more attempts, the student succeeded.

From the other side of the hall, where the Etheralki were practicing, a sharp series of shouts echoed over. A trio of young Squallers were trying to redirect various types of missiles. In general, they seemed to succeed but their General was far from pleased.

"Watch out, Malina. Just a tad less force behind that wind and that stone would have squashed you! Mikkel, you...! How many times have I told you to deflect arrows either high or far off to your side. You don't want to put them into the bowels of the Grisha standing next to you!"

Nikolai sighed and addressed Genya again, "I know all about the terror and rigor of a battlefield but she's too hard on them today. They're doing the best they can."

"Oh, I don't think it's about the students."

"No?" He turned towards the Tailor.

"No." Genya hesitated ever so slightly. "Your presence makes _her_ nervous."

Nikolai frowned. He took some time to process this piece of information. "Well, I guess that's normal. I am her king supervising the progress of the Second Army."

At first, Genya cast him a strange look. Then she threw her head back and laughed. "O, Nikolai. Why would Zoya Nazyalensky worry about somebody assessing her teaching capabilities? She's been around your predecessor, she was the Darkling's favorite and she's survived more battles than most soldiers ever participate in. Do you really think your regality could faze her?"

Nikolai felt as confused as one of the poor students out there. "But why...?" he started without finishing.

Genya gently shook her head. After brief consideration, she said, "Dear Nikolai. You've got time for a little story?"

"Go ahead."

"Well," she began. "Only a couple of days ago, a young Grisha came to my room. She confided to me that she was suffering from some kind of sickness. Her stomach was aching, her chest seemed to constrict her and at night, she would barely sleep. I asked her if something was keeping her mind busy. She denied. Then I asked her if _somebody_ was making her restless... and this time she hesitated. The next moment I told her that there was no cure for that kind of sickness..."

Nikolai waited for more to come, but in the end, Genya let the words left unspoken speak for themselves.

After a while, Genya left to look after her students. Nikolai stayed, his eyes resting on the young Grisha Squaller, who would make her students scamper all over the training hall. Her face seemed to be made of ice, but every now and then, he saw her putting a strand of black hair behind her ear. He also caught rare moments when she bit on her lip and after some time, he realized that her eyes would be everywhere... just not with him. It pained him.

That was the moment when he understood what said sickness was. Somehow, it had befallen him too.

He straigthened his jacket and crossed the training hall, leaving a crowd of Grisha students in hushed surprise. As all eyes turned towards him, the only pair that mattered were the sapphire eyes of his Grisha general, glowing like blue fire, ready to call thunder and lightning onto the world. However, all he needed to know was the barely visible tremor of her lips, as he finally faced her.

"General Nazyalensky... Zoya," he proclaimed for everyone to hear. "You and I... we need to have a serious talk!"

And in the back of his neck he could sense Genya Safin's approval.


End file.
